In the past week, I’ve accidentally walked in on people fucking more times than I can count. Every night, the emberwine comes out and people throw themselves at each other. In the down hours between training or meals, they throw themselves at each other. First thing in the morning, they throw themselves at each other.
They take this search for their direwolves’ matesextremelyseriously, I guess.
Izabel has been trying to get me to join in at night, to flirt with people in other packs or play drinking games with them, but I have at most a glass of wine before I lock myself in my room. The Bonded’s casual attitude towards sex will never fail to embarrass me.
I hate that it still makes a hot flush move through me. I can’t believe my body even has the energy to feel this way after the session I just suffered through.
I yank my door open and step inside, shutting it and thudding back against it in exhaustion.
Then it’s just blessed, beautiful silence, free from lectures and assholes shouting at me and people I barely know moaning at the top of their?—
“Mer,” he says quietly.
Lee. No,Killian. Killian.
Alone, in my room, waiting for me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It’s jarring, seeing him standing there, blond hair golden in the afternoon light. His large silhouette is bold against the pale wall. His deep blue eyes are wide, though I haven’t said a word yet. For a moment, it’s like I’ve fallen back through time.
It’s like I’m finding Lee waiting for me after a tough fight, and my chest, even now, tightens with a familiar longing.
Then reality comes crashing back in.
“Getout,” I snap.
Killian sighs and holds up a brown leather bag. I already know what’s inside. Medical supplies. “Can I at least tend to you first?”
I hate how I feel when his eyes dart to my bruises. Weak, like Stark said. And worse, lonely.
“Killian—” The name still tastes wrong in my mouth.
“Please.”
“I don’t?—”
“You’re hurt,” he says plainly. There’s no room for argument; I’m hurt, and he’ll fix me, like we’ve always done.
Begrudgingly, without a word, I sit down on the bed. I tell myself that I’m only doing this because I’m injured. I’m alreadystruggling. Training will be even harder if I’m slowed down by stiffness and pain.
If Anassa weren’t refusing to help me, these cuts and scrapes wouldn’t matter. My injuriesshouldalready be healed. Every little sting is a reminder of what I’m up against. Anassa’s hatred, her disdain, her viciousness. It’s eating away at my sanity.
One day soon, I’ll either die in training or snap and try to blind her with a practice sword. And probably die.
Killian settles beside me on the bed. I immediately wish I’d chosen a less intimate place to sit, but it’s not like my room provides a wealth of options for two people.
He reaches for me to help me ease my jacket from my body, but I shoot him a glare and he immediately backs off. I refuse to show any hint of pain as I pull the leather from my shoulders and toss it aside. I refuse to even speak as he opens his bag and rifles through it.
“How did you know I’d need this?” I finally ask. Has he been spying on me?
“It was just a coincidence,” he says, voice weary. He’s tired of this, I can tell, of my hardened defenses against him. “I heard from my servants that your wolf was refusing to heal you, and I was just going to drop this in your room. I had no idea you were coming back in right now.”
I sit still as he starts to disinfect my wounds. The familiar smell of antiseptic fills my nose, sharp and bitter. Lingering. It messes with my head. Tricks me into thinking I’m an alleycat again, curling up in the lap of the only person who ever bothered to tend to me.
My pride is a snarling thing, though. Some part of me growls that this isn’t right. That I can’t lay my head down and rest in a place like this. That Killian is the last person I should let see me falter.
Fight, my blood thrums, even louder where it pushes against my skin in the mottled shape of dark bruises.
